


The Foundation

by JulietsEmoPhase



Series: How Ardently [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Children, Fluff, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Marriage, Mild Hurt/Comfort, References to Jane Austen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 23:25:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5763013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulietsEmoPhase/pseuds/JulietsEmoPhase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr Potter's happy life with Mr Malfoy is threatened when he meets the meddling Mrs Skeeter. </p><p>Jane Austen AU, sequel to "The Middle", no smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Foundation

**Author's Note:**

> This is a birthday present for my darling friend Ekene (@gloster/babyvfan) who requested for her 21st birthday that I write a follow-up to my Jane Austen AU style Drarry story “The Middle”. I was extremely honoured to oblige, and I hope I did a good enough job (WRITING LIKE JANE AUSTEN IS REALLY HARD! Lol.) 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this Ekene, love from Juliet xxx

The Foundation

 

   “I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”

 

Jane Austen.  Pride and Prejudice. 

 

   The sun shone brightly over the Malfoy estate, and Harry watched in delight as the numerous children of the party scampered across the grass, their laughter chiming through the air as they breathlessly attempted to launch their new kite into the air.  “Careful my darlings,” Mrs Potter called warmly from his side, patting the back of their infant daughter as she slept in her arms.  “We should not wish you to fall and break your heads!”

   “Yes Mama,” Albus called as his friends giggled and swooped about, in a manner most natural to such small children.  “Yes Mrs Weasley,” his almost-brother Scorpius called out as well, but both boys had such a mischievous glint in their eyes Harry didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them.

   It seemed his wife was in agreement, and with a sigh and roll of her eyes, she and baby Molly walked down to meet the two boys and their friends, a placating word sure to be on her lips.  Harry smiled to himself and turned his attentions towards the more adult members of the party, soon losing himself in a healthy debate on politics. 

   Mr and Mrs Malfoy delighted on opening up their grounds annually to the high society of Wiltshire for a lavish sort of picnic, and this year had given them especially delightful weather, resulting in the turn-out being particularly impressive.  Despite attending every year, of course, what with the Potter’s modest abode residing on the very grounds the party was held, Harry still only knew about half the attendees this year, and he was doing his best to ascertain all the names he could.  There were the usual appearances from the Goyles and the Crabbes, the Zabinis and the Parkinsons, and Astoria Malfoy’s family the Greengrasses, but they made up barely half the guests. 

   It pleased Harry that his own wife’s family, the Weasleys, were also present, as they were a lively bunch who’s status was perhaps not quite as grand as the other families attending, but they were uncommonly kind to Harry as a son-in-law, and it satisfied him greatly that the Malfoys at least had embraced them with kindness and civility. 

   So much of Harry’s life was a mirror of half-truths, a matter of keeping up appearances, that any areas of complete and utter honesty were cherished.  So knowing that his brothers-in-law and their wives were truly welcomed, at least by the younger Mr and Mrs Malfoy, meant he could endure the stifling formality and brazen lies the rest of the day sometimes challenged him with. 

   Such as pretending he was married to Ginevra Potter.

   His friendship to her and her family were of course of the highest genuine state.  In fact he would go so far as to say he adored them.  But the days they had spent as husband and wife could be counted on Harry’s fingers and toes, and were only for the sake of guests such as the ones they were entertaining today.

   As if on cue, someone came from behind and whispered conspiratorially in his ear.  “My darling Harry,” Astoria purred.  “What have you done with my wife?” 

   Harry huffed as if he were annoyed, and turn to whisper just as quietly in her ear; “She would not stop talking, so I was forced to drop her down the well.  You understand, don’t you?”

   Astoria’s copious blond curls tickled Harry’s face and she grinned broader.  “Completely,” she agreed with a raise of her eyebrows.  “I guess it is up to I to rescue the children from that mad red-headed woman attempting to convince them she is their mother?”

   Harry feigned concern.  “Ah yes, it would not do to lose our heirs to a scoundrel such as that, not after all the hard work we took to make them.”

   Astoria grimaced good naturedly.  “Don’t remind me,” she said wickedly, then sauntered off to wrangled the Malfoy-Potters with Ginevra. 

   “Why must you always taunt my wife so,” another fresh voice denounced loudly, and Harry could not suppress the mirth that crossed his face upon hearing his most beloved sound: that of the voice of Mr Draco Malfoy. 

   “You are fully aware that it is always she that starts the teasing,” Harry informed him solemnly.  “And is a poor loser when I am the one to finish it.”

   “You have never once closed an argument with Mrs Malfoy,” Draco sniffed, pleased with himself.  “Harry I have someone who wishes to make your acquaintance.  Mr and Mrs Skeeter, may I present my good friend Mr Harry Potter.”

   Harry tilted in a polite bow as a couple perhaps twice his and Draco’s age bowed and curtsied in response.  They were dressed more for a ball than a friendly summer’s picnic, and Harry was instantly wary.   “A pleasure,” he said.

   “Oh no, the pleasure is all ours,” Mr Skeeter boomed, his voice rattling Harry’s lower abdomen.  “We have heard many a tale of you young sir.”

   Harry glanced imperceptibly at Draco, nervous of what they could be referring to.   “All favourable I hope?” he asked, trusting that his nerves were not showing.

   “All remarkable,” Mrs Skeeter gasped, slapping her fan to her bosom and stepping over to him.  “An orphan of little standing, to find himself in such a favourable position in life, it is a little less than wondrous.” 

   Harry immediately turned to Draco for assistance, but was dismayed to find he had been swept away by Mr Skeeter into another crowd, and was only able to spare Harry a fleeting glance.

   So Harry steeled his courage, and let out a small breath he hoped to disguise with a smile.  “Wondrous is a strong word, Mrs Skeeter,” he said pleasantly.  “I was merely lucky to have such kind relatives take me in.” (And there, was the first outrageous lie of the day, for there were many words Harry could use to describe his relations, _kind_ being the last of them.)  “And then further lucky still to have made a lifelong friend in Mr Malfoy.  Through him, my status was raised most generously, and through him also did I make the acquaintance of my darling wife, which in turn gave me both a son and a daughter.”

   It had not quite been as simple as all that of course, but the words he spoke were true.  Their friendship had survived both the young men realising, with tumultuous shock, that their love for each other was far more than brotherly, and so the task had been to set the stage for two convincing marriages, with neither party truly married to the other.

   It had always been part of that agreement to father heirs, so their estates would be ensured, and family names preserved.  The logistics of such had been a little tricky to negotiate, but both the men had been delighted to find their wives with child mere months apart, and to have both children be male had allayed all fears immediately as to the future of the Malfoy and Potter lines.

   Life was not always that simple though, as Ginevra had come a year or two later to Harry in great distress, having concealed her true feelings for long enough.  The youngest of six brothers, living in a world of men, Ginny had confessed guiltily of dreaming of a daughter, and feeling utterly wretched for such a selfish notion.  Harry though, although surprised, had taken her needs to heart.  He had hoped not to repeat the intimacy which they had shared again, for it was utterly against his nature, but he knew too, full well, that Ginevra did not wish such an experience either.  What she wished was a daughter, and amongst the four of them, they had decided Harry and Ginny would try once more for a child.

   Harry thought little Molly, named for Mrs Weasley and currently cradled in Ginevra’s arms, might be his favourite of all the shared children.  Purely because she had given her mothers what they both so dearly wanted. 

   No, the shared experience of the Potters and the Malfoys had not been a simple one, and it was guaranteed through their continued lives it never would be.  But it was indeed a lucky one. 

   “So you see,” Harry concluded.  “It is not quite so wondrous as fortuitous, but you can be assured that I am grateful every day nonetheless.”  He rather hoped he could quell Mrs Skeeter’s enthusiasm and make his excuses to leave, but she hung on his every word like a beggar desperate for pennies. 

   “You downplay such remarkable events,” Mrs Skeeter said, with an uncomfortable air of one that had the upper hand in the conversation.  “I am not sure you are aware, but Mr Skeeter is the owner and regulator of the largest paper in the southern counties – I am sure you have heard of _The Prophet_ , have you not?”

   Harry did very well to school his reactions, as _The Prophet_ was a disreputable rag as far as he was concerned, dedicated to the slanderous gossip that it flaunted alongside the actual news, with the sole intention of destroying the lives of innocent people.

   As someone who knew his life could be ruined in an instant, Harry always sided with the ‘guilty’ party, and felt keenly for what must surely turn out to be their ruination. 

   “I have yes,” he conceded.

   “Well,” Mrs Skeeter pursued.  “We are privileged to many channels of communication, and it is my knowledge that both yours and Mr Malfoy’s betrothals happened within hours of each other, and that you were not always so close – the many years you spent apart whilst he was studying at Oxford I mean.”

   Harry frowned authentically at his current social partner, wishing more than ever for her departure.  “These are not so miraculous events, Mrs Skeeter,” he said patiently.  “The temporary separation you have mentioned between Mr Malfoy and I is only natural considering the social chasm that lorded over our acquaintance.  We were young men, with feelings close to the surface, and for a time it got the better of us.  I am delighted to say we overcame them, and when we travelled in the same social circles, is it hardly so surprising that we would both find desirable young ladies to our liking, and chose to announce our intentions within an agreed time frame?”  He smirked, allowing his fond memories to guide him.  “After all, if you know anything of Malfoy and I, you will know of our fierce competitiveness?”

   Mrs Skeeter narrowed her eyes at Harry, studying him.  “Yes, of course,” she said with a fluttering laugh.  “But how then did you accrue such a fortunate home?  You have no _actual_ connection to the Malfoy family, for him to bestow such a property on you?”

   Again, Harry scowled down at the peculiar creature at his side, her jewels and coloured feathers glinting in the bold afternoon sun.  “Mrs Skeeter,” he said patiently.  “I am unsure as to what tales you have heard, but I purchased Malfoy Cottage legitimately, through a desire from all parties to be living within close proximity to one another – Mrs Potter and Mrs Malfoy are close acquaintances from their later youth too, didn’t you know?”

   “Yes I did know that,” she conceded with eyes glancing sideways. 

   “And you should know that for a couple in our position, the rent is very favourable?”

   Mrs Skeeter met Harry with a beaming smile that he was sure had wilted many a man in the past.  But he was not to be fooled.  “I am sorry, I do not wish to intrude on your personal arrangements,” Mrs Skeeter simpered, snapping her fan open and cooling herself once again.  “But, I have heard some astounding accounts, and as a worldly woman I am intrigued as to certain peculiarities in the relationship shared between you and Mrs Potter, with that of Mr and Mrs Malfoy?”

   Harry felt the very flesh on his neck stir in apprehension.  “Mrs Skeeter,” he said, his voice cold.  It was not his usual manner, he was known to all as delightful and happy man.  But he was not enamoured with this busy-body’s line of questioning.  “I am not sure that the married life of either myself and Mrs Potter, or the Malfoys, have any relevance to anyone besides ourselves. 

   She dipped her head in contrition and fanned herself again, making her auburn curls bounce.  “My dear Mr Potter,” she breathed, like a dear friend would a secret.  “I am merely concerned for your well-being.  For your _happiness_ in marriage.  For I have heard that you barely spend five nights per year at your own home, and instead seek refuge in this very abode.”  She widened her eyes and flicked her fan towards Malfoy Manor, and Harry’s heart clenched. 

  “My dear madam!” he barked out in a laugh, partly natural, and partly constructed to cover his great distress.  “Does _The Daily Prophet_ credit its sources amongst idle house staff?”  He adjusted his jacket and wished fervently he had a cup of tea to sip on to distract his nerves.  But he stilled them forcibly and laughed once again.  “I do indeed enjoy a considerable amount of male company, as do our wives seek female companionship with each other.  But this was the design is such close housing arrangements, I fail to see the unusualness?”

   Mrs Skeeter’s eyes pierced him dangerously, and for a moment Harry forgot the hundreds of guests milling about them, and saw only the threat before him.  “The unusualness of most nights of the year spent apart from the woman you bound yourself to by God and by law?”

   The question hung for only a moment, until thank Christ almighty they were once again reunited with their other halves. 

   “Potter you look positively famished,” Draco announced possessively as he slung an arm around his shoulders.  “Has Mrs Skeeter been delighting you too fervently?”

   Harry smiled defiantly at her.  “Not at all,” he announced.  “Though I feel the hour has come to switch from tea to wine, what say you dear fellow?”

   Draco, his beloved, saw the keen desperation in his eyes, and lit up his features accordingly.  “Why I do believe you are right!” he exclaimed, squeezing his shoulder tightly.  “Let us go find Dobson, he will see to that matter at once.”

   They bid their farewells to the Skeeters, and slipped into the throng. 

 

***

 

   It had been a long and tiring day.  Harry sighed as he stood by the dwindling fire, pulling at the tie folded around his neck.  “You look weary my love,” said Draco as he approached, slipping his hands onto Harry’s waist, causing his eyes to flutter closed as he leaned back into his husband. 

   “I feel weary,” he admitted heavily.  They had spoken of Harry’s troubling conversation with Mrs Skeeter earlier that day, and had also informed Mrs Potter and Mrs Malfoy.  “I worry what the future might hold, if such rumours were ever to come to light.”

   Draco slipped his long fingers through Harry’s necktie, and assisted him in its removal, his chest warm against Harry’s back.  “You have always worried too much,” he said affectionately.  “Mrs Skeeter is nothing but hot air.”

   Harry chewed his lip, almost unaware as the tie dropped to the floor and Draco’s fingers began work on his shirt buttons.  “With her husband’s influence over the paper though…?” he trailed off, not daring to think what the printing of their true living arrangement would do to their families.  “Perhaps we should consider spending more time with Ginny and Astoria?”

   Draco sighed and turned Harry around, resting his hands on his shoulders and his forehead against Harry’s.  “I will not be cowed in my own home by idle threats,” he said firmly, rubbing his thumbs against Harry’s shirt.  “She would not dare slander such a family as the Malfoys with such an accusation, it is an unthinkable charge to lay at such a powerful name.”

   Harry swallowed, his eyes closing.  “But it is true,” he said softly.  Once again, he was reminded what he had cost Draco when he had confessed his love for him, what he had asked him to risk with their union.

   Draco, though, always knew just how to read his thoughts, and pulled away to tilt his face up, encouraging his eyes to open.  “I agreed to our love, to our marriage,” he insisted.  “Lord, the scheme was of my devising!  And there is not a day I have regretted it, so I will not have you thinking otherwise.”

   Harry frowned at him.  “But the fact remains that there is _truth_ in what Mrs Skeeter relayed to me,” he argued.  “And with Mr Skeeter wielding such influence over _The Prophet-”_

   Draco, however, suddenly looked less perturbed.  “I have been thinking for some time now,” he said, attempting seriousness, but betraying a gleam of mischief.  “Of expanding my ventures.  Don’t you think it’s about time I invested in a solid newspaper to boost the annual earnings?”

   Harry blinked, and took a step back to regard his husband fully.  “You would… _buy_ _The Prophet_ from Mr Skeeter?”

   Draco looked most pleased with himself.  “It is a rather elegant solution is it not?”

   Harry laughed.  “At the very least, it should scare Mrs Skeeter away from her scandal,” he admitted.  Draco stepped closer to him once more, and re-began his efforts with Harry’s buttons.

   “I will not let anyone hurt you,” he said tenderly, and Harry rose his own hands to stroke at Draco’s lapels.  “I should die protecting you from the world, dearest Harry.”

   “Let us hope it does not come to that,” Harry said, his fingers tracing the familiar line of Draco’s clavicles under his clothes. 

   Draco smiled at him, glancing through his golden lashes as the petering fire cast long shadows across their chambers.  “It will not,” he said in hushed tones.  “Now, Mr Potter, I wish no more of this melancholy chatter, for my bed is cold and I insist you help me warm it.”

   And even with his worries and woes not quite banished from his mind, Harry knew he could trust in their love for each other to survive almost any slings and arrows the world could possible throw at them.  So who was he to refuse to an offer as that. 

   “If you insist, Mr Malfoy,” he said, as their clothes littered the floor and they embraced each other adoringly.  “Then there is little else I can do.”

 

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please review! To discover more of my writing, visit www.helenjuliet.com


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